There were those experiences one thought
Had happened, part of being awake, self,
Alive, and those experiences that schooled
One in the demon arts and sciences of sleep
Among the living. It was an open university,
Rather small and with no actual graduate
Programs, only one level of degree to do
And then be done. It had palm trees, a logo,
A mascot, a slogan. It had classrooms
And green lawns with concrete sidewalks.
It had a stadium and tennis courts, a library,
A few labs, and a center for performing arts
Where just the other day, under blue skies,
One might have heard wild laughter coming
From a darkened hall, perhaps leading away
To a practice stage, while overhead choirs
Rehearsed until the roof reverberated
And, simultaneously, dead ahead, with those
Waves and changes in the ears, the eyes
Could see a silent body with white hair
And amorphous physique struggle silently
Down a flight of carpeted stairs, a trick,
However unintentioned, like all dreams,
Like real dreams that could be escaped,
But, to the graduating mind, not the same,
Although the laughter echoed around
The white-haloed head that never turned
And the dim scene groaned with hosannas.
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